Hunger Games 48  Static Electricity
by Soozin Hevincarrr
Summary: Pixel assumed that she'd never be selected in the reaping. There was never any chance of it. Obviously, she was wrong. She was pulled into the Games, and like any other tribute, was forced to fight, kill, and die.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey persons! This is my first Hunger Games FanFic. I got bored. Just an idea that came to me. It revolves around the story of Pixel Miller of District 3. **

I don't own the Hunger Games... Blah blah blah. Let the story begin!

**1 ~ Just Another Reaping**

Pixel. By far the worst name in the world. I bet no one in history had ever been named after a miniscule, coloured square on a screen; except me.

Sure I live in District 3, technology is supposed to be our favourite thing, right? Doesn't mean we like being named after it.

I guess you'll be wanting to know about my District before I bore you with complaints about my awful name.

No one knows much about District 3, well at least, no one seems to know much. We're one of the wealthier districts, probably because we devote our time to making expensive supplies that are sold everywhere in Panem. At age five I was taught how to wire a TV, and at my young age of fourteen, I can pretty much make an almost-computer from scratch.

That's all anyone in this district does for a living. Make electronics.

Maybe you'd think we'd be a district dwindling into poverty, but we're far from it. Sure, we don't get more than what we need of food and essentials, a little more if we're a bit lucky, but no one here ever dies from starvation or anything similar.

In fact, District 3 is so well off, we consider ourselves among the wealthiest districts. 1, 2, and 4, when really, we're about as equal to them as District 12 is to the Capitol. Unfortunately, I seem to be the only person who lives within a hundred miles of my home, who accepts this fact.

My friends are all held under the illusion, that if their names were ever drawn in the reaping, they would be able to claim victory with the blink of an eye, when really, I doubt any of them would survive the first ten minutes. The longest any female tribute from this district has ever lived in the Hunger Games was four hours, and that's after forty eight years of the Games running! It's truly pathetic.

But my friends aren't the only ones who think they could beat the people who spend their lives training day and night for the Games (who will hereafter be referred to as the "Careers"). My seven brothers all seem to be under that impression also. And you haven't met my brothers.

The oldest is Raph, who is five years older than myself. He has an ego of infinite capacity, even though I highly doubt there is any part of him that is possible to humiliate more than his appearance humiliates himself. He is the least manly man I've ever known. He has a mousy voice, the sort that can only be heard when he speaks an inch from your face. His build is somewhat depressing. I fail to believe there is any muscle hidden under that frail skin. And the way he stands... If he could stick his bum and chest out any more, you'd think he was a chick. In fact, I think most people debate about that point in their brains for a long, long while when they first meet him.

Despite all this, Raph sincerely believes he could take out all the Careers with one swipe of his fist. Luckily, he is too old to even have his name put into the reaping, and accidentally placed in the selection of female tributes like it was last year.

My next brothers actually have some common sense. The twins, Lyle and Nigh, unlike Raph, figured out what protein was during their seventeen years of life and ate it. I might actually believe they have a bicep hidden under their flesh, but its still hidden very deep. Very deep. They both take pride in their smarts, problem is, they think wit is all it takes to win in everything. Witty as they are, they are as cowardly as cowards get. There was once a spider in our room at night. I woke up to the irritating cries of my terrified brothers, and found them both clinging to each other, because a spider was on Nigh's bed. They would die instantly in the Games.

Then sat the brother above me. Kai. Kai was disappointing, but not near as embarassing as Raph. He was scrawny sure, but he actually understood the meaning of the words "humility" and "social", unlike my other brothers. Kai was only a year older than me, surprisingly, he was about ten grades smarter. He doesn't think he is though. He bashes himself up over every tiny mistake he makes, usually its funny, other times it gets annoying. He's the sort to stress over nothing and have a cardiac arrest over anything of importance. I still manage to get along with him better than everyone else.

Then there's me. In my misguided opinion, the most masculine in my family, and that's saying something, because I am very female. Unlike my withered brothers, I have square shoulders, which gets extremely annoying. I could beat any of them any day in an arm-wrestle. It's pathetic and humiliating.

Then there are my younger brothers; Grant, Smetch and Hash. Yes, my parents pick charming names for their children. I sometimes wonder if Mum was drunk when she named me. My younger brothers weren't yet old enough to insult my family's name with their feminity.

So, I guess you'll be wanting me to cut to the chase about now. I've droned on quite a while. You're probably wondering why the heck you're even reading my story if there's no point to it. But let me assure you, I have an interesting story to tell.

I'll take it you know all about Panem and the Capitol, so I won't bother explaining our dull communist political system. I'll take it you've heard of the Hunger Games. The epic battle to the death of twenty four teenagers. My story properly starts on the day of the reaping. That joyous day when two names are drawn out of those bowls.

Here, in District 3, to see your name pulled out of that bowl was like being condemned to death. The Careers thought we were a nuisance in the Games, the others think we're in line with the Careers. We get killed off pretty fast. We tried too hard to fit in with the Careers. Way too hard. And that's what put this district in our bottomless pit of shame, only problem is half the district is too blind to see our falling, and instead of pulling a parachute cord on our fall, put a couple anvils on our backs, making us sink even further into the depths of idiocy. In fact, some of the nitwits seemed to enjoy plunging into humiliation.

The last winner from our district was Leon Ford, and that was thirty three years ago, when he was fifteen. The lucky guy had been born the year the Hunger Games were created. Lucky...

It was just the morning of another reaping day. I was dwelling under the impression that my name had a one in fifty-million chance of being drawn from that bowl, and continued to ignore the sunlight pushing through my windows, and clawing at my eyes.

But just closing my eyes and burying my face in my pillow wasn't enough to let myself settle again. District 3 may be wealthy, but it doesn't mean I don't have to share a room with three of my brothers. They were proving my fifty-million to one chance of being drawn theory very wrong.

They were muttering about numbers, coming up with depressingly low chances of any of us getting pulled, and then figuring out how likely it was for any member of our family to be picked. They seemed to be enjoying doing maths.

"Three hundred and fifty two to one," I heard Lyle conclude. Even though he was at the other end of the room, on the top of his bunkbed, and attempting a whisper, I could hear every word effortlessly (and I wasn't trying, I wanted to sleep in). I heard Kai let out one of his stressed sighs.

"One of us is going to be chosen this time," Kai muttered from his end of the room.

"Maybe Joe'll volunteer," Nigh added hesitantly. "He was talking about it yesterday. He reckons he could win it in two days." Joe? Win? I had to supress my laughter. Joe, the fat, unintelligent, blob, thinks he could beat all the Careers, let alone one? And my brothers actually sounded as though they believed him? This was sad.

"I actually think it'd be sort of cool to get chosen," Lyle remarked.

"I actually think it'd be sort of cool if you shut up," I groaned, putting on my best Lyle-impression voice.

"I actually think I might be able to win it," Lyle said, in his attempted whisper. I snorted. What was the world coming to? My siblings were so stupid! It was quite funny. I didn't even need to play the annoying-little-sister role to humiliate them! But that didn't mean insulting them further wasn't funny.

"Hey Kai," I started, lifting my head from my pillow. "Is that spider still near Lyle's head like it was last night?" Kai had no idea what I was talking about. Probably because the spider didn't really exist, I was just proving a point. I saw Lyle's blue eyes widen and stare at the wall suspiciously.

"Where was it?" he asked, trying (and failing) to mask the fear in his voice.

"He can take on the Games single-handedly, but can't defeat a spider!" I said. "It's... Lyle!"

"Shut up," he muttered.

"Last year's victor had a phobia of snakes," Nigh informed me, sounding very formal and serious. I raised an eyebrow.

"How would you know?" I inquired. My brother bit his lower lip in. Victory. "You stalk Leslie don't you?"

"He did," Lyle added. "You should've seen what he had on his-"

"I deleted that," Nigh interupted forcefully. For identical twins, their voices sounded very different.

"You had every single frame of her saved on your phone," Kai said. "You were obsessed."

"I can't help she was hot!" Nigh retorted.

"She's from District 4 sweetheart," I told Nigh. "Even if she was ugly she'd still be out of your league." I smiled at Nigh's face, which had suddenly turned about the same colour as a beetroot.

"Shut up," he growled. I blinked slowly and dropped my head back down onto my pillow.

"You going to place any bets Kai?" Lyle asked.

"What?" Kai mumbled.

"Y'know? On who gets picked? Me and Nigh are going to see how much money we get by the end of the day. Start up a little betting service. You could be our honourable first customer."

"Isn't that what you tried last year?" Kai asked. "And what if you get picked? Your name's in six times this year."

"Well Raph didn't get picked last year," Nigh remarked.

"Precisely!" Lyle agreed. "If any of us get in, I'll be banking on us winning anyway."

"And throwing your money through a shredder," I muttered.

"Seriously Pix," Kai said. "Show some support for the District. They're our team."

"And I would love to rip the heads off some members of this 'team.'"

"I feel really sorry for the idiot who winds up marrying you," Nigh spat. "Is it even possible for you to smile?" I looked over at my brother and produced my best, worst smile, before narrowing my eyes at him again.

"Not many guys like the constipated girls," Nigh said. I bit my cheek in. I had no come back. It was infuriating.

"I'm really hungry," I decided. "I'm going to go eat." I slipped out of my bed, and got to my feet, and walked towards the doorway through the centre of our U of beds. Nigh and Lyle's bunk, Kai's and mine.

"Thanks Pix," Kai muttered gloomily as I walked out. I never found out what he said thanks for.

My feet hit the cold pine floorboards and sent a chill through my whole body. Why didn't we have carpet in the hallway? I skipped through the remainder of the hall on my cold toes. I could hear Grant and Smetch arguing in their room, over their stupid compact-computer again. They seemed incapable of fighting over anything else. A shudder went through my body. Grant would be in the reaping today. Twelve. That dreaded age. What if he got picked? I shook the thought away. There were so many other names in that bowl, and his was in once. There was no chance. I'd never really understood just how real the Games were as my older brothers turned twelve, but now that I'd stood there through those eerie moments of soul-twisting silence waiting for a name to be called, I felt a strange need to make sure my brother wouldn't be chosen. But even if he did get chosen, I wouldn't be able to volunteer for him, I was female. Surely Kai or Nigh would volunteer for him. No, that would mean losing them. There was really no way I could help my brothers.

I walked into the hallway and opened the small cupboard built into the wall. My own private meter-squared dressing room, seeing as my mother and myself were the only females in the household. I threw on a simple set of tight-fitting, blue jeans and a black skivvy. I swear I only ever look good in black. My paler skin tone just won't work with anything the slightest bit pale.

I stepped out into our small kitchen, scanned through our cupboards and the fridge, and found there was nothing that interested me. Even if we didn't have much food, I could afford to be picky every now and then. So with breakfast looking boring and dull, I changed tactics and chose to skip my first meal. Hey, the kids in District 11 can go without food, so why can't I? Mum'd say, "You have it, so eat it!" but I couldn't be bothered to think about what my Mum wanted. It was the day of the reaping! No school! No work! It's just like a holiday! Only two people get sentenced to death after it, but no one worries about that until noon.

I walked into our living room, its only as big as the two bedrooms, with barely enough room for three beds to cram into it. Mum was still lying on the sofa asleep, Dad's armchair was empty again, but I figured he'd just slept outside again. Our two bedroom house was simply too small for our family. The small TV was still sitting on its box. Dad had made that TV, brought it home, given it to us. It was probably the most expensive thing in our home regardless. The poor cardboard box could barely support the forty-eight inch screen.

"Hey Mum," I whispered. She didn't stir. "Mum," I whispered louder, nudging her shoulder. She didn't move a muscle. Clearly she'd been drinking again. That's all Mum spent our money on during reaping week. Alcohol. She seemed to think we were destined to be chosen for the Games. The worst she'd gotten so far was someone who shared the same age as Lyle had been selected. I think Kai got his ability to get over-stressed about things from her.

"I'll be back by twelve," I muttered to Mum's sleeping self.

I crept across the room and out onto the small porch. I threw my cloak over myself and walked down the street.

It was still pretty early. I probably should've been embarassed walking around in a cloak, but no one in their right mind would avoid the sleep-in on reaping day, I was practically invisible. Fortunately Tiargo and I probably weren't in our right minds. I knew he would've been up hours ago, reaping day or not.

I stalked through the streets, humming happily to myself. It just seemed to be a happy day. I'd already insulted my brothers, Mum was drunk, so I'd be able to get away with almost anything, I'd been able to pry joy out of my brothers' fear, and then the sun was shining about ten shades brighter than it normally would've, and it was still only eight in the morning.

I stopped outside Tiargo's house, if you could call it a house. The unfortunate building seemed a little lop-sided, and it was only a double-roomed dwelling. His roof had been caving in for months, some of its tiles were littering the ground beneath it.

I smiled at the sight of his house. Tiargo seemed so much poorer than my own family, but yet, they seemed so much happier. He and his parents were always cooperative, loving, considerate, the perfect family. I assured him it was because he didn't have siblings, but he really didn't seem to agree with me.

Now, you're probably expecting me to go back into some reminescent story about my past with Tiargo, and how I saved his family's lives from starvation or something a while back, or vice-versa. I'm not.

Tiargo and I met like any other ordinary people, at school. We became friends, at school. I hadn't actually known he'd been living in the poverty he was for six years, he'd always acted too happy to be dying. It came as quite a shock to me when I found out he lived in the poorest part of the District.

So there I stood, at the enterance to his house, after crossing a small muddy path. My shoes were now caked with mud, I couldn't care less though. I examined the splintering wood of Tiargo's door for a moment. The whole door looked just about ready to crumble at the fainest touch of human flesh.

His voice caught me off-guard.

"Pix," came his whisper. I jumped slightly, and turned to face him. How he'd managed to stand right up next to my ear without my knowing? I had no idea.

"Hey Ti," I greeted, smiling at him.

"You ready to watch some poor kids get sentenced to death this afternoon?" he said it like it was nothing. That smile remained on his angular face, that dimple stayed dented in his right cheek, his hazel eyes still bright and happy.

"You bet," I told him. "How many times is your name in this year?" I asked him, smirking. Like it made any difference. No matter how many times your name was in, they always seemed to draw one no one really cared about.

Tiargo ran a hand absent-mindedly through his messy, cocoa-coloured hair.

"You're doing it again," I said. His hand immediately froze.

"What?" he asked.

"Fixing your hair." He quickly messed it up again. I rolled my eyes.

"No I didn't," he protested.

"I'll believe that the day the Capitol decides to turn us into unicorns and make us have jousting-tournaments." I smiled to myself as images of unicorns with bloodstained horns ran through my mind. I half-wondered where I'd plucked such an absurd idea from. Tiargo laughed and slipped his hands into his pockets.

"The Capitol are getting close to looking like unicorns themselves," he muttered. "They're more brutal than knights ever were. It was probably better living fifteen hundred years ago."

"Probably," I said. "You weren't around." He punched my arm.

"Neither were you," he added. "I swear I've never been more jealous of dead people before." It was my turn to punch him.

"Don't lie," I teased. "We all know you love me." I attempted a wink, but my eyelids refused. Tiargo put a hand on my cheek.

"How did you know," he whispered in mock-shock. He then started singing.

"My heart sings when I see your face,

I don't care that it's such a disgray-ayce,"

"Gee thanks," I muttered. "You don't even know the song, do you?"

"No, but it rhymes!" He once again went to fix his hair.

"And again," I murmed.

"What?"

"Your hair." He muttered something under his breath. He decided to change the subject.

"Your name's in three times, right?" he inquired.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "You still haven't told me how many times you got one of those food-package things."

"I'm in seven times. The seventh was because I wanted a cake."

"You heard anything about any idiots willing to volunteer?"

"Nope. You?"

"Lyle was saying something about Joe, but knowing Joe, he'd probably pee himself if his name got drawn, and then faint."

"He's too thick to know what fear is," Tiargo joked. "You wanna go somewhere, or something?"

"Yeah," I decided. "Let's go eat." Tiargo offered me his arm. I slipped my own arm through his, and we skipped towards the street, whistling and looking like complete imbeciles.

**{Four hours later... After dancing around in a dried water fountain and throwing rocks at Ms Macintire's windows with Blake and Olive.} **

I approached my house again. It was about ten minutes past twelve, but hey, I was known for being late for everything of importance.

The first thing I saw was my hungover mother, yelling at Dad out the front of our house (something about me being missing). Dad saw me and raised an eyebrow threateningly, in the sort of way that said "You're dead young lady". I ignored him, and hastily sprinted the rest of the way into my house. Smetch and Hash were jumping around on the couch, enacting the Hunger Games like they were merely games. They were pretending to mutilate each other and die. Perhaps there was some hope left for my brothers. I laughed quietly as I passed through the lounge room.

When I came to my own bedroom, I found Nigh sitting on my bed telling Grant (who had no permission from yours truly to be in that room) how likely he was to get chosen, and stressing the poor kid out. Lyle was writing something down in his notepad, leaning against the wall beside Kai's bed.

"Where's Kai?" I asked.

"Where were you?" Nigh questioned.

"Out," I answered simply.

"With your boyfriend," Lyle added.

"He's not my boyfriend," I argued.

"Don't hide it Pix," Nigh said. "You've been lapping at his heels ever since you turned twelve."

"Fine then," I sighed. "I was out on a romantic date with my boyfriend 'Tiargy-Poo', during which, I enjoyed my first kiss while watching the sunset." My brothers just looked at me.

"But it's not sunset," Grant observed. I ignored my younger brother's lack of knowledge of the language of sarcasm, and turned to Nigh.

"So, now that you think you know where I was, where's Kai?"

"Where were you really?" Nigh inquired.

"I repeat: Where is Kai?"

"Where were you?"

"Where. Is. Kai."

"Why do you care so much? You just left the house for hours."

"And you would've never committed such a terrible crime, you perfect child you."

"Shut up," Nigh growled.

"Where's Kai," I repeated.

"You still haven't told us wher-"

"You haven't told me where damn Kai is."

"Toilet," Grant answered.

"What?" I asked. "Is that it?" I turned to Nigh. "He's on the loo, and you refused to tell me? What the hell is up with you?"

"I-" Nigh tried.

"It's okay, I know you're a social-retard."

"And you're a stuck-up bitch," Lyle fired. "Don't deny it."

I glared at him. That cut deep, but there was no way in hell I'd tell him that. There would be pain.

"Thank you," I lied, with mock-politeness. "I'll just leave you to your stressing then. Goodbye brothers."

And with that, I stepped back into the hallway, and into Kai. Kai looked awful, and I don't mean because he was his normal scrawny self. He looked pale, and he was the only member of the family who actually had some form of tan on his skin! His hands were shaking, and he smelt like... He smelt like spew. I gagged as I inhaled the putrid odour.

"Where's Dad," Kai managed, sounding as weak as he looked.

"Outside," I responded. Kai nodded and walked slowly through the house.

Brilliant. Just brilliant. I should've remembered Kai always spewed when he got himself way too stressed. It had happened during the last reaping as well. At least this time he'd spewed at home, instead of in public.

About another two minutes passed before my mother re-entered the house, to give me a lecture about disappearing earlier on that day. Then she decided to stress about what everyone was going to wear to the reaping. My brothers all obeyed Mum and dressed in their finest, which really wasn't all that fine. Dress pants and a button up shirt, all seven of them. I, on the other hand, saw no point in getting dressed up to watch two names, that weren't going to be my own, drawn out of a ball. There was no point in dressing up to be a face in the crowd. I still left the house in a skirt and an apricot shirt with a black cardigan pulled over it.

We all left the house at around half-past one, and dawdled through the streets to get to the reaping.

It was only a matter of moments before I stood away from my brothers and family, in a crowd of teenage girls.

The silence was unbearable. Everyone seemed to believe their name was going to be chosen. None of them actually bothered to think "It's not going to be me" just as it would be for all but two of us, instead they all seemed to dwell on, "What if it is me?"

The silence was enough to bring me to that thought. If I was chosen to be in the Hunger Games, I'd garentee I'd be one of the first gone. I had no experience in hunting, fishing, or gathering; no experience with any weaponry; no experience with even winning over audiences. If my name was ever drawn, I knew I was dead.

A man in his early thirties approached the centre of the stage outside the Justice Building, and tapped the microphone standing in front of him. He was given some microphone feedback in response. Apparently whoever had set up the reaping hadn't decided it was deserving of a proper microphone. Regardless the man carried on.

The man introduced himself as Ugbert (apparently he was the mayor of District 3, there's something I didn't know), before reading us the history of Panem, complete with the exact same wording of the past fourteen years, and probably before even then. Ugbert then read out our list of victors. Total: One. Leon Ford. After that depressing list, another man stepped to the microphone, clearly from the Capitol. Bleached skin, grassy hair, deflated nose, inflated cheeks. Very Capitol-like.

Capitol man called himself "Darren". I thought Darren was an ugly name, but didn't bother shouting out to him what I thought. He gave the signature "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds ever be in your favour!"

"Or you die!" someone in the crowd yelled. Good on them too. The whole thing was far too solemn. That small joke about two people's fate was actually amusing at that point in time. Darren ignored the comment and elaborated on the Hunger Games some more, taking every oppurtunity he could to say that the Capitol are amazing and we're all scum (well that was the gist of it anyway).

Finally Darren's dull elongated speech was over and he said, "I'll be a gentleman and let the girls go first." He winks at the crowd, and most respond with a glare, but every girl in that crowd has stopped breathing, out of fear.

I found myself frozen with anticipation also as Darren's hand sunk into the bowl. I watched and waited. The seconds seemed to be growing tiresomely long. I stared at his hand, finally it settled on a sheet of paper and it was all over.

I was safe. He'd chosen, and it wasn't me. It couldn't be. The odds were more than in my favour.

Darren leaned back into the microphone and unfolded the small sheet of paper.

"Pixel Miller," he read.

Pixel Miller? Pixel Miller! Me?

My jaw fell to the ground. I wasn't scared. I wasn't angry. It was just unrealistic! The chances of my name being the one drawn from that bowl was miniscule! It couldn't be real! I was just having some crazy nightmare, wasn't I? One that was freakishly realistic.

I could feel everyone's eyes resting on me.

"Pixel," Darren repeated, speaking a bit louder this time. "Pixel Miller?"

I cautiously picked my way towards the front. This all seemed weird beyond comparison.

I pushed through the final row of girls blocking my way to the front. Darren smiled down at me and gestured to the stairs leading up to the stage. I eyed them suspiciously. I was half hoping I would step on one and find myself falling into oblivion, and figuring out it was just a dream.

That wasn't what was going to happen.

I walked up the stairs. My eyes kept whizzing over the crowd. My stomach tied itself into a thousand knots. My knees started shaking.

Eventually, my foot touched the wood of the stage. I swear the sound of my shoe hitting echoed through the whole of Panem.

Darren offered me a hand. I just glared at it. My head was spinning. It all felt like a dream. It was too surreal.

"Congratulations Pixel," Darren said, offering to shake my hand. I just lowered my eyebrows.

"Uh... Hello?" I tried. No one even laughed at my stupid statement. I'd just been sent to my death. There was no one in that audience who didn't know that.

I didn't know where to look anymore. My heart was pounding. I didn't want to humiliate myself more than nescesary. My shoes suddenly became extremely intruiging.

Darren chuckled in an attepmt to lighten the atmosphere, but his attempts failed.

"Now the boys!" he announced, with another cheesy smile.

Even though I was staring at my amazing shoe, I could hear all the boys in the crowd shuffle uncomfortably.

Darren buried his hand in the second bowl, before raising it again, and plucking one from the top.

He wrenched his hand from the bowl, gripping a slip of paper between his index and middle fingers.

It was at this stage, I noticed just how badly I was breathing. I was hyperventalating. My lungs were heaving against my chest. This only added to my dizziness. I could feel the blood escaping my face, as I did one of the stupiddest things I've done in my life (and I've done a lot of stupid stuff).

I, Pixel Miller, fainted. In front of my whole District.

**Please review! Any CC will be loved! Any review at all will be loved and cherished! This story won't continue without you guys! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Next** **chapter! (That was quick.) It's not very long, but it's vital still. Just a thanks to J., Hogwartgamesdawn, ImAFightingDreamer'Darkflight, and Amyb11 (even if you only put this story on alerts. You better review Amy) for showing their support for the story. **

**Sorry we didn't get to the guy tribute last time. I intended for him to be announced in this chapter. ;) **

**You probably figured I don't own the Hunger Games (you must be so smart! ;) And here's the chapter! **

**2 ~ Disfunctional Families**

It only takes around two seconds to get back up after merely fainting. Unfortunately, I fell off the stage. The audience filled with "ooh"s and winces, at the pain I should've been feeling.

That's another thing you won't know about me. I was diagnosed with "congenital analgesia" (otherwise known as "inability to feel pain") at age four. You probably think, "Man, she's so lucky!" Really, it's not lucky at all.

There was one time when I was seven. Dad was cooking something on the stove, and I wanted to know what was for dinner. I rested my hands on the stove and spent about two minutes trying to look into the pot sizzling away. Needless to say, Dad freaked out when he came in.

I hadn't felt any pain in my palms. If anything, it had been only an itch, but I still gained gigantic red welts on my hands, and I couldn't use my hands properly for a couple months afterwards. Or there was the time I sprained my ankle. I just kept walking on it. I couldn't feel anything telling me to stop, but I could tell something was out of place. Until eventually, my foot dislocated itself and Kai started crying because my foot appeared so deformed (he was only eight, we can forgive him for that). My foot then had to be surgically put back into place.

So there I was, on the ground again, a couple of boys were snickering at me as I got back to my feet.

"If I ever find out who snickered," I mumbled. "I swear I will kill them." Everyone was staring at me, as I walked back up the stairs. Even Darren appeared mildly amused as he offered to help me up, again. This time I hit his hand away and spat at his feet.

"Give that to the Capitol," I muttered. Yeah, I guess I forgot that the Capitol and all of Panem would see this.

I was so dead... Twice.

Darren completely ignored my rude gesture, sending my anger into death-mode. So much for a beautiful day. Darren went to read out the name on the slip he still had in his hand.

In that instant, a boy from the crowd lurched forwards and tore the sheet from Darren's grasp, rolling back onto the ground and tossing the piece of paper into his mouth for good measure. The peacekeepers lining the vicinity all ran at the boy, trying to coax him to spit the paper out. He responded by swallowing.

The peacekeepers were outraged. The remainder of us were supressing smirks. The peacekeepers clearly didn't like our reactions, so they went for another tactic. One of them pulled out a gun and shot the boy in the head.

The gunshot lingered in the silence. One lady somewhere screamed. Everyone's smiles were gone.

The peacekeepers dragged the boy's corpse away, not bothering to try and remove the paper they'd fought so desperately for. One lucky guy had just had his life saved.

Darren chuckled like it was all some funny joke. He dipped his hand back into the boys' bowl.

"Plenty more fish in the sea!" he said as he drew his hand out again. He carefully unfolded the sheet and called the name of the next victim.

"Javier Hallscoat." Darren smiled at the mob of boys near the stage. One boy stepped forward.

"He's dead," he said weakly. Darren put a hand to his ear.

"Pardon?"

"He's dead," the boy repeated.

"If he was dead, young man," Darren explained, "His name wouldn't be in the reaping."

"The peacekeepers just killed him!" the boy shouted. "He won't be a part of the Hunger Games."

"Are you volunteering then?" Darren inquired. The boy's head turned back to the ground, and he tripped backwards a couple of steps.

"No Sir," he mumbled.

"What was that?" Darren asked.

"No Sir," the boy repeated.

"Get back in your place then," Darren ordered. The boy obliged. This was proving to be an interesting reaping.

Darren put his hand back in the boys' bowl yet again.

"If this boy is dead," Darren grumbled. He wasted no time in unfolding this piece of paper. He read out my fellow tribute's name.

"Kai Miller."

My heart froze. Kai? Kai! First me, and now Kai? It couldn't be possible. My brother couldn't be selected. It was impossible.

Chills rolled up my spine. It was very possible.

My next actions were entirely pointless and irrational. I tackled Darren and tore the paper from his grasp, as if it'd reverse the fact that my brother was chosen.

A peacekeeper came onto the stage and pulled me away from Darren, but I was kicking and struggling so hard, another two had to come to restrain me.

"NO!" I screamed. "LET ME GO!" I started kicking at the peacekeepers' shins. They didn't even grunt. I twisted my arm so that it might twist the peacekeepers, but I heard a crunch come from my own arm and decided against it.

"NO!" I protested, shaking violently with anger. "Kai will not be a tribute!" Darren got back up to his feet and smiled at me.

"Sweetheart," he started.

"In case you haven't noticed," I spat, "I am not a sweetheart."

"Darling," Darren retried. "You're already a tribute, you don't have to volunteer, and you're female, you can't take his place." Darren was dangerously close to me now. That is, dangerous for him.

I raised my knee with intense force into Darren's "soft spot," making him crumple into the fetal position.

"Miss Miller," a peacekeeper threatened. "If you don't cease this violence we're going to have to put you out." I had no idea what he meant, but if it meant anything like a premature death, I didn't want to face it. So I stopped my fighting and glared angrily at Darren, my lungs heaving in fury.

With Darren on the ground and me restrained, Ugbert chose to return to the microphone and take order.

"Kai Miller," he called. "Please come forward." He sounded at least slightly sympathetic for Kai. I turned my gaze to the crowd, scanning it desperately for my brother.

Of course my brother had done what he does best. He was surrounded by a small circle of people, all backing cautiously away. Kai had spewed. And I thought my fainting had brought more than enough shame to the family name.

"Kai Miller," Ugbert called again, this time his voice was fainter. At least someone had human emotions.

I looked back out at the crowd, keeping my eyes glued to my brother's mop of curly, caramel hair as he stumbled forwards. Every step he took seemed to take a minute. Every step he took sent my anger flaring further.

"Volunteer idiots!" I yelled at the crowd. I earned no response. District 3's female tribute wasn't proving to be very popular.

Kai continued stumbling through the crowd. He didn't dare look up at the stage, or at me. He just kept slowly inching closer. The crowd of boys had even had enough time to create a walkway for my brother.

I can't tell you how angry I was. I wasn't sad, scared or sorry. I was just angry. It shouldn't have happened. Why had that boy stolen the first name? It was his fault this was happening. Why had the peacekeepers killed that boy? It was their fault too. Why had Ugbert stepped forward and urged my brother to continue? It was everyone's fault. They all seemed to want to insult me further, to make me look foolish in front of all of Panem. Each breath that escaped my lips, escaped with a growl.

My brother finally reached the stage. By this time, Darren was back on his feet, but he didn't offer to help Kai up. He straightened his collar and sneered at Kai. He turned back to the audience.

"May I prensent to you," Darren started, "The tributes of District 3!" Every other year he'd spoken those words with enthusiasm, this year, he spoke it with a tone of loathing.

"Shake hands now," Darren urged. Kai just looked at me. I glared at him.

"I might shake his hand if-" I was cut off by a peacekeeper jabbing me in the throat. I coughed uncomfortably. Apparently, I wasn't allowed to say anything anymore.

"Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds ever be in your favour!" Darren finished, but the expression he gave me afterwards told me he did not want the odds to be in my favour.

The peacekeepers hoisted me to my feet again. This time, I didn't bother struggling. I walked with them cooperatively into the Justice Building.

I might've marvelled at the giant polished collumns supporting the roof, the intricate carvings in the walls, or the beautiful velvet bannisters hanging in various places, had I not been so mad. The Justice Building was the richest building I'd ever laid my eyes on, let alone entered, but when the oppurtunity came, I couldn't care less about how much money this building had wasted.

I was half-dragged half-escorted into a room, a rather large one, in which I was told, that my loved ones would bid me farewell in. I tried to tell the peacekeepers that my family would be much happier visitting Kai and forgetting me, but they didn't respond. They closed the door behind them without uttering a word.

I clenched my fists. I swear I've never been that angry in my life. I just wanted to hit something, maybe even kill something. My fists were vibrating I was so tense. My breathing still hadn't calmed. My body seemed to rise and fall with each breath.

I waited for minutes, minutes of agonising silence, for my family to turn up, any one of them, but none of them came, instead when the doorknob turned, Tiargo entered.

"That'll look good on TV," he assured me, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Your family stressing over your brother?"

I rolled my eyes. "Clearly."

"Well keep the resentment," Tiargo said.

"What?" I asked. "Why? You always say you can't believe how much I hate my family!" Tiargo ran his hand through his hair.

"Pixel," I immediatley knew he wasn't kidding. No one could ever be bothered to say my whole two-sylable name unless something was vital.

Tiargo put his hands on my shoulders. His hands seemed cold and unsteady, which was very abnormal for him.

"You know I still hate that," he explained. "It's just, if someone else doesn't kill him, you're going to have to. This is the Hunger Games. There won't be any room for comprimise. They'll make you kill him. I garentee, they're going to make one of you kill the other. Personally, I don't think Kai has the guts to kill anyone." He paused for a moment and sighed.

"I'm going to kill my brother?" I asked. My anger seemed to have evaporated. To kill my own brother, my own flesh and blood. Is that what the Capitol wanted. Tiargo was speaking too seriously.

"Keep finding reasons to hate him," Tiargo advised. "Don't make it harder for yourself. I want you alive." He stared into my eyes, and I gazed back into his.

"Please," Tiargo begged. "Come back alive." His hands started shaking. Tiargo, the boy with the insane amount of courage mixed with stupidity, was scared. He was concerned. He was concerned for me.

I wrapped my arms around his back.

"I'll do my best," I whispered in his ear. Tiargo's arms pulled around me as well.

"You better," Tiargo warned, but I could hear his voice cracking. I rested my head gently on his shoulder. His arms gripped me tighter.

"Don't be scared," he whispered, his voice muffled by sniffled. "You'll be vulnarable. Don't you dare cry." I bit back my lower lip. I was not going to cry. If I could hold it together for Tiargo, it would be enough.

I don't know how long we stayed still. In the silence of the Justice Building. I could feel his breath brushing the back of my neck. His warmth seemed to make me warmer. His body was shaking though. He was crying. I'd never seen him cry before. It almost brought me to tears, but I couldn't let that happen, not now.

"Whoa!" a new voice exclaimed, causing both me and Tiargo to jump. I lifted my head and glared at the person, or should I say, people in the doorway. Nigh and Lyle.

"Sorry!" they both blurted.

"We just-" Nigh tried, but saw my glares and gave up. Tiargo broke away awkwardly. Part of me wanted to be back in his arms, but another part told me it was wrong.

Tiargo stuffed his hands into his pockets and forced a puffy-eued smile at me. Never had I seen him look that weak, that lost, that hopeless. I just wanted to hug him again, but in the company of my brothers it seemed illegal.

"Don't die," Tiargo repeated, stepping back. I forced a smile back at him.

"I won't," I tried to say, but my voice only came out as a whisper. Tiargo wiped his face against his sleeve and sniffled again. He spun on his heel and walked out of the room. I gazed after him. The atmosphere suddenly dropped in temperature dramatically.

"What?" I snapped at my brothers.

"I'm sorry!" Nigh blurted. "I didn't actually think you and him were-"

"What?" I yelled. "You think we're- We're just friends, okay? You pick the worst moments to come in!" I could feel my anger flaring again, making my jaw tense.

"I'm really sorry Pix," Lyle apologised.

"For what?" I spat. "Do you agree with your socially-inept twin?" I could see that both Nigh and Lyle were offended by that comment, but Lyle retained his composure.

"For calling you a bitch earlier," Lyle explained. "I didn't actually mean it- I was just angry an-"

"I know you meant it," I growled. "You never say anything you don't mean. You think I'm a stuck-up bitch, so don't deny it."

"Fine then Pix!" Lyle snapped. "I hate you, and I sincerely hope the Games end you!"

"Yeah, well at least I actually have a chance at winning! You'll probably be crying on the floor the moment the Games start on TV. You're a coward. And I hate you."

"Goodbye sis'," Lyle farewelled the volume in his voice rising. "I'm glad I won't see your face anywhere other than on TV again!" He gave me a final angry glare, probably pulled a face, but I was glaring at Nigh.

"Get lost," I instructed. Nigh exitted after his brother, looking just as angry. I slammed the door behind him, and pounded my fists against it in my fury.

"I HATE THEM!" I screamed. I crumpled to my knees and banged my fists against the ground, yelling things I don't know if my brothers heard.

The door opened again.

"GO AWAY!" I shouted, pounding my fist on the ground again. There was no movement. I turned up to my guest. It was my mother. I was in no mood for showing her any respect though.

"Go away!" I yelled. "Don't get drunk and I'll live for you. Now get lost!" I could feel my mother's gaze resting on me as I planted my face in the floor again. I heard her whisper something to someone behind her, and the door clicked closed a final time.

Minutes passed. There were no more visits. I remained lying on the floor, but my burst of anger had ended. I just felt... empty. As if there was no reason for me being around anymore. No one would've wanted me after my outburst. I was pointless. Useless. It was probably a good thing I'd been turned into a pice for the Hunger Games. My family wouldn't cared if I died.

The peacekeepers finally came in and hoisted me to my feet. This time I wasn't even tempted to elbow them in the face. They dericted me outside and into the back of a car.

My family used to have a car, but it cost too much to maintain, so Dad sold it. I could remember riding in it. It had never been amazing, but it had been fast, and it had made me look rich and cool.

I sat next to Kai, who was paler than ever. He reaked of sweat and vomit, a sure sign he was stressed. His hazel eyes were puffy, and he was constantly wiping his nose with his sleeve. He'd been crying.

We bumped along the road in silence. I knew if I tried to establish a conversation with Kai, he'd only break down again, and there wasn't anything that wasn't depressing to talk about.

When we reached the train station we were attacked by reporters and cameras. The Hunger Games were no light matter. Surprisingly, it took only five minutes to actually get on the Capitol-standard train.

The train was amazing. If I could marry vechiles, I would've married that train. 250m/ph and I couldn't feel a thing. The carriages were separated by automatic doors, there was a whole carriage dedicated to food (I was not regretting skipping breakfast), and even then the food was expensive, and surrounded by posh furnishings. And this was a train!

The one thing I didn't like about the train, was the fact that Darren would be riding with us.

I sat in an armchair, at the opposite end of the "food" carriage to Darren, who was having a very quiet discussion with Kai. From what I'd heard, he was scolding my brother's behaviour when he was chosen, and how he'd have to put in a lot more effort if he ever wanted to live. I was occupying my time with fixing up my cardigan, plucking split-ends from my hair, and eating various things from various tables.

There was an empty armchair in front of me, just as there had been in front of Kai before Darren entered. I didn't know whether to feel rejected that no one bothered talking to me, or to feel privileged that I didn't have to endure through a lecture.

I heard the automatic doors slide open. Our carriage had a new occupant. I looked up from my hair and glanced to the other end of the room. Leon Ford, our mentor, had emerged in the vicinity. He was wearing a plain tuxedo, probably from the reaping that morning. He had his greying hair combed over to the side. His face drooped, like he was the most miserable person in the world. His beady eyes were squinted behind his glasses, his cheeks sagged with his frown, even his nose pointed downwards.

I raised an eyebrow at Leon, almost as if to say "You're seriously going to mentor us?" Leon didn't notice though. He exchanged a few words with Darren, who chuckled at his words, before looking over at me. My split-ends became extremely intruiging again. The loss of eye contact didn't change anything though.

Within the minute, the forty year old man sat in front of me, scanning my face like he might be able to read my thoughts or something.

"What?" I demanded. Leon noddded slightly.

"You'll make an interesting tribute," he noted.

"Now repeat the phrase in English," I said.

"The audience will enjoy watching you fight." His expression remained depressed. Maybe that was why he won. His fellow tributes went to kill him, wondered why he wasn't shaking in fear, in which Leon would use their moment of hesitation to flip-out and kill them.

"Why will the audience like me?" I asked. "I fell off a stage!"

"But that wasn't near as remarkable as your attitude when Darren read out your brother's name." I lowered my brow.

"The audience likes girls who knee guys where it hurts?" I clarified. The corners of Leon's lips actually curved upwards slightly.

"You're fiery," he told me.

"What?" I asked.

"With a temper like yours in the Games, you will get sponsors. You don't like being restrained, do you?"

"No...? Who does?"

"Not many, but most can tolerate it."

"I can tolerate restraint!" I snapped.

"No you can't." Leon was actually smiling now, even if it was a smile that said, "you're a foolish little girl".

"Shut up," I muttered, crossing my arms.

"Hold onto your resentment," Leon advised. "It will help you more than you know."

"And you'd know because..."

"I was in the Games once," he answered plainly.

"I noticed, but how would that let you know that-"

"Because I failed."

"You won," I pointed out.

"The Careers got angry at each other. I was only lucky to arrive just after they'd finished wounding each other. I wouldn't have had it in me to kill if they weren't screaming in pain."

"That's your victory story?" I asked. My District really was pathetic. Leon won because of luck. Leon nodded.

"But you won't be near as lucky." he added solemnly.

"Thank you," I murmered. "You're too encouraging." He didn't take any notice.

Leon stood up from the chair in front of me and walked over to one of the tables. He picked up a small chocolate and bit it in half.

"You're probably very scared right now, aren't you?" Leon asked. I wouldn't have called it fear. Not at that point in time. Everything was all too incomprehensible for me to actually be scared. It seemed a bit like a dream. Unrealistic, yet it all made sense.

"Not really," I replied.

"Don't deceive yourself girl," Leon said. "You used to gamble with your friends over who would die in what order."

"How would you know about my gambling?"

"You don't do much to keep it a secret now, do you?"

"I guess not," I sighed.

"You treated it all like a game you'd never be part of. You used to joke about how people died slowly, painfully. Any regrets?" Leon looked at me. My friends and I probably weren't quiet enough in our concersations. The last thing I wanted to think about was the different ways Olive suggested that the Careers should've used to kill the other tributes. I didn't want to think about getting my eyes gouged.

"No," I lied. "I got money from it."

"Listen here girl," Leon instructed. "You need to start looking at this for what it is. It's ruthless. Merciless. It isn't anything like a game. You're part of it. You don't want to gamble with people's lives. How does it feel to know that there are kids out there, not so different from yourself, betting on how long you'll live?" He left a long pause. People were out there judging me. It could've been anyone in Panem! All deciding what they thought of me. I could picture Nigh and Lyle betting on who would live longest out the back of school, my name was somewhere near the bottom of the list.

It wasn't easy to swallow.

"Miss Miller," Leon said. "Any regrets?"

"No," I repeated. Maybe I shouldn't have been so bland. I was really beginning to wonder just how many people I would've offended if they'd heard me talking.

"Why?" he pressed.

"Well I can't go give all the money I earned back, can I?" I awaited Leon's response. "Why would I regret getting something?" Leon scratched the stubble on his chin.

"You'd better stay the same for the Games," Leon warned. "Regrets will kill you out there." He looked me straight in the eyes. "You might just be worth something." He picked up another chocolate and walked out of the compartment.

"Thank you for your support," I muttered.

I killed time on the train for a bit longer, seeing if it was possible to lie down in an armchair, whilst wearing a skirt. It didn't work well. Darren got up from his armchair opposite my brother and told me I needed to go with him and Kai to watch the reapings in another carriage.

District 1's reaping broke out into a shouting volunteer match, District 2's reaping was just one volunteer of each gender, rather boring and dull. Then it showed District 3. Me fainting, getting back on the stage, that boy stealing the paper, the peacekeepers holding him back (for some reason the Capitol cut out the shooting part), his name being called, Kai being chosen, me screaming, kneeing Darren, Kai puking, and finally me being unable to shake his hand. Had to be the best reaping to watch in history. District 4's was another volunteer battle, in which the person who was actually chosen was killed. The only thing that stood out about District 5, was the name of their male competitor, Beetroot. And I thought my name was embarassing. In District 6, a girl around thirteen volunteered, for no apparent reason, which was very abnormal for District 6. Districts 7, 8, 9, and 10 were all the simple call the names and its over. District 11's included a public whipping of one of the tributes fathers, because he tried to save his son. Finally District 12 finished with a reaping that everyone seemed to think was a funeral.

Darren announced that we were entering the Capitol. I ran up to the window and stared at the impossibly large city around me. No doubt it was beautiful. Skyscrapers towered above the ground, brushing the clouds in the sky, the whole place seemed to twinkle with lights, even in the evening, expensive, sleek cars filled the streets. The whole place was too much to take at first.

Kai gazed out the window with me. He seemed to be enjoying it more than me. His eyes lit up every time we passed an exceptionally built building. I smiled at my older brother. For once he actually seemed happy.

"I wish we lived here," he whispered.

Here's a tip. Don't say "live" around tributes for the Hunger Games. I felt my heart sink as Tiargo's words came back to me.

_"They'll make you kill him."_

**Okay guys. That wasn't a very interesting chapter, but we're in the Capitol now! Yay! It will get better from here on. ;) **

**I'd like you guys to review or PM me telling me: **

**1. Who, from the characters introduced so far, would you like to know more about? They don't have to be a part of the Hunger Games. **

**2. What Districts and tributes would you want to know more about? **

**You will review though. ;) (Shut up. I wink a lot.) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! **


	3. Chapter 3

**New chapter! It's a bit shorter, but I was suffering from a case of writer's block. Thanks again to my amazing reviewers! I will find a time and a place to fill in your requests. I hope you enjoy the chapter! :) **

**3 ~ Lights Camera Action**

To admit, I'd actually been partially excited to meet my stylists. When I entered the room, my thoughts immediately changed. I didn't want those Capitol freaks anywhere near me. You just had to look at them to be repulsed. And to think that they were responsible for styling me! I shuddered at the thought.

I'll skim over the boring process of being waxed and washed. They acted as if having a single hair anywhere other than your scalp or eyelashes was a crime. I felt like a slug dipped in salt when it was over. I felt too smooth to be human, like any article of clothing someone tried to put on me would slip straight off (I was proven very wrong right after I put my robe on) and my whole body was tingling, it wasn't pain, but I figured, for anyone else it would be.

My stylists weren't happy about my wrist either. As it turns out, I'd actually managed to bruise myself in my battle with the peacekeepers. After further analysation of my arm, they firgured out that I'd also pulled a muscle, just by observing how tense my arm was. They probably thought I was insane for not noticing. I hadn't realised there was an unnatural bump of muscle manipulating my skin from my elbow to my hand.

Finally I was taken into my "head" stylist, or something, I didn't really care about his role. He introduced himself as "Chez" (pronounced "Sh-e-z, he was still insistent upon teaching me how to spell his name). He reminded me a lot of Raph. Very scrawny, with that same sort of mousy voice, only Chez had a heavy Capitol accent. The only main difference was colouring. While Raph was pale, with blonde hair and blue eyes, Chez had skin that was tinted purple of all colours, hair that had been dyed green and only grew on the left half of his head and he had even gone through the effort to dye his irises orange. I was silently praying I wouldn't wind up looking a thing like him.

"Raise your arms," Chez instructed from behind me. I did as told, letting the chilled air attack my sides. Nothing happened for a moment, part of me feared they were getting skin-dyes or something ready.

"Close your eyes," Chez whispered, "We don't want to ruin the surprise." I squinted my eyes shut slightly. To anyone else, it would look like my eyes were closed but I could still see everything around me. Shutting my eyes wouldn't have done anything anyway. Chez wrapped the garment around me from behind. It was a heavy fabric, I couldn't see what it was clearly though. It felt like leather, though I'd only ever owned one item of leather, and that had been a pair of boots.

"You can open your eyes now," Chez said. "I can barely believe you're wearing my work!" I released my eyes from their squint and tried to look at what I was wearing. It was leather alright. A thick, silver-tinted, leather. Without the aid of a mirror, I could only see the top of the upper half.

"It might be beautiful," I told Chez, "But I can't see it."

"Well you'll just be very happy when you next see a mirror!" Chez replied in a voice that resembled a squeal.

"If you think it's pretty, it's probably ugly." I looked at Chez. I probably should've been very scared if someone with his fashion sense was dressing me. Chez didn't interpret my glares as offensive though. In fact, he acted as if I hadn't said anything. He picked something up from his table, no doubt some terrible device used to vaporize even the tiniest hair accidentally left on my body.

"Keep your eyes wide open," Chez instructed stepping in from of me.

"Are you going to wax my eyes now?" I asked. "Isn't this going to be fun?"

"Don't say anything," Chez ordered. "Relax, but keep your eyes open. Eyes wide open." I did as told, anxiously awaiting whatever destruction was coming for my eyes.

Chez placed a finger on my left eye, right where my pupil was, I only knew that because I couldn't see anything outside that eye. I was pretty glad that I couldn't feel pain. Apparently getting poked in the eye burns. Chez pulled his hand back, letting light flood back into my eye.

"Blink," he commanded. I blinked once. Twice. Something seemed different about my eye. Holy cow! He'd mutilated my eye, hadn't he? There was a bump where my irises once were. This was not going well for me. I closed my eyelids again and started winking with alternate eyes.

"What did you do?" I questioned threateningly. Chez just chuckled.

"Keep your eyes open again," he said.

"No!" I protested. "I don't want both my eyes broken!"

"They're not broken. Just let me finish your other eye and it will all be over. The affects aren't even permanent!" I exchanged a cautious look with him, and relented. He put his finger on my right eye this time and moved it just as quick.

"That's funny," Chez acknowledged. "Most people wince when I finish."

"Well I'm not 'most people' am I?" I spat. "I'm stuck in a room with you." Chez laughed.

"And few people, and fewer tributes, would dare do what you did to Darren." I raised an eyebrow. Did I need to excuse my actions? Maybe I did flip-out a bit.

Chez put a hand on my shoulder.

"Let's go finish your make-up, shall we?" he said. I didn't really get a choice. He pushed me, with his hand on my back, towards a chair near the centre of the room. I slumped down into it just as my original stylists re-entered.

"Hi idiots," I grumbled as they started fussing over my hair.

One of my stylists didn't appreciate this greeting and tried to scold me. "You young lady-"

"Hestia," my other female stylist scolded. "She's just a girl. She's just been picked for the Hunger Games, she's in a better mood than the last one."

Chez chuckled. "She was hysterical. I'm glad we don't have to force make-up onto another screaming girl."

"Do you remember that time when Karina accidentally took a tribute's eye out?" my other stylist asked. "Lucky she's not around to mess up District 3's faces this year." Those words didn't comfort me in the slightest. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair as my stylist called Hestia started work around my eyes.

Thanks Olive, I thought. Never thought I'd ever be so scared of getting my eyes gouged.

After another hour or two, they decided we were done. I could barely feel the air on my face I was covered in that much make-up, even if they all constantly told me I was decent-looking before they started. I stretched my legs out from my chair and put a hand towards my hair. I casually ran my fingers through it, but it ended earlier than it normally did. A lot earlier.

I turned to Chez, my eyes wide in rage.

"What have you done?" I growled.

"Fetch me the mirror Kunan," Chez called.

"Where is my hair?" I stormed.

"We cleaned it up love," Hestia answered. I got to my feet and started scanningthe floor around me. It was spotless. I went to run a hand through my hair in frustration, but once again I was brought to the realisation I had little hair left.

"Don't stress love," Hestia told me. "It makes your eye twitch." What? My eye, twitch? Never had I heard even a reference to an eye-twitch problem, and yet this lady from the Capitol had picked it out in a matter of hours.

"I'm not stressed," I lied. "I'm angry."

Hestia rolled her eyes. "Of course love."

"Don't annoy the girl," Chez said. "She'll probably slap you."

Hestia offered me a hand to get out of my chair. I took Chez's advice and slapped her across the face.

"I'm capable of standing up," I informed her. I stood myself up, slowly and shakily. My dress was stiffer than I'd expected, I could move my legs about an inch apart before I couldn't move anymore.

Chez smiled at me again, his purple lips stretching into a smile. "Set the mirror in front of her, Kunan." My non-head-male-stylist stepped in front of me, wheeling a rectangular object with him. The rectangular object was covered with a thick white sheet, obviously a mirror was behind it.

Chez's fingers clenched with anticipation. "And..." My non-head-male-stylist, who I figured was actually called Kunan, pulled the curtain from the mirror. "Voliá!"

I stared at the mirror in almost every emotion imaginable. Shock, fear, excitement, fury, embarassment, amusement, awe. The one question reverbrated through my mind in a million different tones.

What have they done to me?

I hated it. I loved it. I thought it was crazy. I thought it was awesome. I was very indecisive about my costume.

I looked nothing like what I'd expected. First there was my skin, which I swear they'd bleached, I looked as white as snow, hairless, smooth and blemish-free. Then there was my shoes. Simple black leather flats, conntected to my ankles with buckles. Third, there was the dress. My mother wouldn't have wanted me caught dead in it, I myself was unsure about it, but if it made Mum angry, I'd wear it for sure. It was strapless and only reached my mid-thigh. It was leather also, a thicker leather mind you. The dress was only stunning because of the maze of electric blue currents running through it. The blue lights had no path, they just traced around the invisible pattern repeatedly. It doesn't sound half as amazing as it looked.

The thing that shocked me most was my face. I still looked like me, slightly, just my "good" aspects had been highlighted, my bad, erased. I couldn't get over how beautiful I appeared, but yet how much I still looked like me. My hair had been dyed black and cut to reach only just past my chin. It actually suited me though.

Then my eyes. My eyes were the creepiest things in existence. The whites of my eyes were a pale crystal blue. My irises were blue, (and that alone was amazing because my eyes were hazel last time I checked) streaked with electric blue lights, constantly flashing on and off in random patterns. My pupils also contained one of the freaky lights. There was no doubt my eyes were scary.

I looked over my reflection. I seemed so alien. I was sort of scary, yet pretty, in a way. I really had no idea whether I should've embraced Chez or punched him square in the face.

I turned to my team. "What happened to my eyes?" I asked.

Chez placed an arm on my shoulders, which was unwelcomingly warm. "Their contacts Pixel. They're not permanent. Let's go meet your brother, shall we?" I didn't get a choice. He started guiding me towards the door, while I performed my best walking attempt in my dress.

We found Kai waiting in the preparation area with his stylist "Florence", where we were supposed to be getting into our chariots, but there was far too much time for that. His eyes were like mine, only electric green. I had to laugh when I saw that his black suit had been moulded to make it look like he had note-worthy muscles.

"Shut up," Kai mumbled, narrowing his creepy eyes at me. I put a hand over my mouth.

"It's just funny," I laughed. "You're so tough Kai."

"It's only funny to you."

"Our brothers will kill themselves laughing when you come onto the TV!"

"No they won't."

"I can't believe they did that!" My laughter was far louder than I'd intended though (as per usual). I was drawing a lot of strange glances from the other tributes in the area.

Pixel, I thought. Shut up before you make the worst first impression in history.

A tribute who'd been standing by the chariot in front of us came over. He was tall, masculine, with a rather perfect tan, but that was probably thanks to his stylists. His eyes hadn't been altered like mine and were a deep brown. His hair was perfect in my opinion, a mess of spiked, beachy blonde hair. He had a very distinct face, but I wasn't sure whether to blame his stylists for that.

"District 3?" he asked.

I shook my head. "We're dressed up as fishermen. What makes you think we'd be District 3?" I shook my head again.

"We're District 3," Kai told him.

"District 4," I corrected.

"Shut up, Pix," Kai instructed.

The guy raised an eyebrow. "District 3?" he clarified.

"Yes," Kai told him.

"Kai, Fredrick knows we're District 4," I scolded.

"Who's Fredrick?" District 2 boy asked, his eyes scanning Kai like he was prey.

"I didn't know your name, so I made up one," I explained. "You look like a Fredrick." That was a lie.

Fredrick/not-really-Fredrick laughed. "I'm Carter."

"Why act polite when you're going to kill us?" I asked him. "You do look like one of those hot-rebel-killers." He did. He was even wearing some imitation armour made completely from knives.

Carter smiled slightly, although he was clearly trying to hide it.

"You could kill us with your dress!" I blurted. That made Carter's smug expression falter.

"It's not a dress," he told me.

"It looks like one."

"No it doesn't," Kai interupted.

"If you lookat it from my angle," I strated, "It looks like a dress."

"Well it's not a dress," Carter grumbled.

"It just looks like one. A. Lot."

"April won't want me communing with the enemy," Carter said. "I should go."

"Later Carter," I said, waving my arms vigorously above my head. Carter turned and walked to the chariot in front of us. He started exchanging words with a girl also in weapon-studded armour.

"Great," Kai whined. "Now you have District 2 as our enemy."

"We didn't stand a chance in the first place!" I said. "Coming home alive will just be a pleasant surprise. Enjoy these days while you can."

"That's comforting." Kai decided he didn't want to talk to me anymore and climbed onto our chariot. I followed him. Kai rolled his eyes as he saw me.

Luckily we were spared of each other's bad conversation skills as the walls started moving. Well, at least I thought it was the wall when it started moving. I hadn't noticed the massive doors standing in front of us. Music began blaring through unseen speakers, drowning out any voices that hoped to be heard. The anthem. I hated every note in that tune. It was playing so loud, I didn't think anyone in the whole of the Capitol could hear anything.

I exchanged a nervous glance with the horses manning our chariot.

"If you dare move without warning me," I warned.

"What?" Kai asked.

"I was talking to the horses," I grumbled. I turned over my shoulder to look at Chez one final time. Most of the other stylists had been nice enough to speak to their tributes before the whole city-ride.

I looked at Kai standing next to me. He looked like he was going to be sick again.

"Don't stress," I whispered, nudging his elbow. "If you puke on this chariot, you will die." Kai merely swallowed.

District 1's chariot started down the course. Its tributes looking flawless. Almost as soon as they started moving, District 2's left. Carter's companion stood appearing very angry with the crowd. Carter didn't look near as fearful, in fact, he looked triumphant. He glaned over his shoulder at me and caught my gaze as his chariot moved further and further away. He had a perfect smile on his face. The sort of smirk that hides the reckless boy that is obviously behind the mask.

I was jerked forwards suddenly. Our chariot had started moving now. We were moving, rolling steadily out into our crowd. The crowd who was probably going to mean the maintainence or the end of us. I needed to make a good impression.

I stared over the over-crowded streets, trying my best not to smile. The crowds were all screaming for me. Even though they knew almost nothing about me, they were screaming and applauding me. It was one of the most exhilarating feelings I've experienced.

"Got to make an impression," I whispered to myself.

Kai turned to me with an eyebrow raised. "You want these people to know you?"

"I don't want to die now, do I?" I looked back over the crowd. Kai didn't decide to say any more. Some people seemed repulsed by our creepy eyes, others seemed intruiged. If I wanted to make an impression, I'd have to either fit my costume, or be the opposite, but I didn't want to smile and wave.

I chose to spend the ride throwing things at the crowd. Anything I could scoop off the ground, anything I could find in the chariot (glitter and dust from previous years). The audience didn't respond all that well to me throwing litter at them (and I quote "Who chose that disrespectful brat to be a tribute?" I didn't want to be there either buddy), but they seemed to smile at everything that caught and spread in the wind. I quite enjoyed watching the glitter glide away also.

It ended what I felt was far too quickly. We were "welcomed" into the Capitol and the Games (they pretty much said "You're going to die, but don't worry, you'll look good and eat well before it!") before we were escorted into the Training Centre.

The Training Centre itself was an extremely remarkable building from the outside, but on the inside, it was even greater. It probably cost a hundreds times more than the Justice Building back in District 3.

If you've read about this building before and whoever wrote it didn't tell you about the ground floor, you're missing out. My description will be nothing to compare to its beauty, but take my word for it. It was amazing. It was wide open, well lit, lined with windows all looking out to the Capitol streets. There was even carpet beneath my shoes. Soft, beige carpet. I wanted to kick my shoes off and dance through it, but I restrained myself. Dancing could wait. There was a small tiled area with a waterfall flowing from the ceiling to it, but the liquid managed to disappear mysteriously before it reached the carpet. There were various sofas and couches, all very posh and plush, sticking to a very elegant, but neutral colour-scheme. Four glass elevators were in the room also.

The tributes split up to head to their floors. Me, being in District 3, had to ride the same elevator as Districts 1 and 2's tributes. No one really spoke to each other during the brief moment we had together. It was probably better not to know the names of the people you were supposed to kill.

Kai and I got off the elevator with Darren and Leon. Our floor was almost as spectacular as the ground floor. We were given a "tour" of the floor by Darren. Both Kai and me almost screamed with joy when we found out we didn't have to share a room with each other. The dining area was huge. Everything seemed to have a million and one buttons to operate it. Life in the Capitol must've been great. To have everything at the tips of your fingers.

That wasn't the sort of luxury anyone else would ever have.

I found myself in my new room. The room that would hold me hostage from the wonders of the city just beyond my window. I had a whole double-bed to myself. These sort of pleasures were never avaliable to anyone back in District 3. I crossed over to my so called "ensuite" that was about as big as my room. I turned the taps on and washed all the make-up from my face.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My stylists had used some sort of crazy bleach thing on my skin that wouldn't wash out. Some of the glitter I'd been throwing around had settled on my face and refused to move. My eyes still had those freaky contacts in them, and I had no idea how I was supposed to get them out. My face now looked a lot less alien. I had my proper face back. It seemed a shame really. I'd looked so perfect with my make-up.

I was given a set of fresh clothing to wear instead of my leather "dress". I threw on the skivvy and shorts with relief. I stretched my legs. It felt simply marvellous. I'd felt so restricted in that tight dress.

I smiled to myself and hummed a random tune as I skipped towards my door. I was just trying to enjoy myself while I still could. I wasn't going to wallow in my own misery. I just had to keep my friends away from my thoughts. If these were going to be my last weeks, I was going to make them the best weeks I of my life.

**There's that! So please review. I'd love any CC at the moment. I'd love any review. I'll try to update this story at least once a week. I'll be back with the next update soon. Heads up, the next chapter will be a different take on this chapter, from someone's point of view. You can hazard a guess as to who it is in your review. Get it right and you will be rewarded. **

**Later. :P :D **


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